


You're The Devil In Me

by remyllian_fire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 04:41:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4773908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remyllian_fire/pseuds/remyllian_fire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Letting Peter turn him into a vampire was supposed to be easy. Stiles wanted it. He wanted to abandon the remaining shreds of his morality. Now he knows he's a monster. He's eternally bound and drawn to Peter, but he wants to find another way. Peter isn't willing to give up so easily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're The Devil In Me

**Author's Note:**

> I think about this a lot, so I do intend to continue writing this beyond this bit here, but I promise you this first chapter can also be read as a stand-alone. Scout's honor.
> 
> Title is from The Chemical Brothers' song "Setting Sun," but I think it might also be a line from another song that I can't think of right now.

There's a brief moment, before shadows close around him, that Stiles wishes he could push away, wants to fight. But teeth pierce the flesh of his neck with the softest, gentlest of sounds and any thought of resistance is so fleeting it's instantly forgotten in a flash of those white teeth and blinding, perfect pain. As soon as lips press against the hollow of his throat and a hand grips the back of his neck, it takes nothing for Stiles to give in. What little strength he has, he pushes into holding tightly to Peter's shoulder.

"Peter."

As soon as he speaks, the white-hot pleasure stops. Suddenly nothing but cold air is between them, and too much empty space surrounds his body. Too much emptiness within himself to bear alone.

"You found my name written on your heart, did you?"

It should sound stupid. It should be horrifying, just how melodramatic and trite he is, but Stiles couldn't possibly be annoyed with him. Not when he's right. Before now, they've never spoken. Stiles has only seen him from afar. But somehow Stiles knows him like he know his own bones. They had never exchanged a single word or touch, yet Peter is a part of him. Without explanation, he knows Peter as intimately as his skin knows his nerves.

"Something like that."

Peter tips his chin with a surprisingly gentle hand, but Stiles closes his eyes before meeting his gaze, unsure of what he might find there.

"You want this for yourself, Stiles?"

He can't say it. He doesn't know if it's really his for the taking, if there's anything left of him to cross the emptiness of his own abyss into Peter's world.

"I want- I want you to finish whatever you were doing a moment ago."

He never knew it was possible to want something so deeply. He doesn't fully know what it all means -- he has a rough idea, but he doesn't know anything for certain. He does know that he needs it, and he doesn't care to discover anything else. Peter bites down again, this time harder, drinking deeply. Stiles wraps both hands around his arms, holding their bodies close, consuming and letting himself be consumed.

He lets out a quiet, choked gasp when Peter steps away, but Stiles follows. He stumbles, arms outstretched as he nearly falls. He's caught by strong arms and feels himself being lifted, his back flush against Peter's chest, held in place with a hand tight on his hip and while the other wraps around his throat. Again, he feels wave after wave of pleasure course through him in tandem with the pressure of Peter's mouth at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He knows, logically, that he's growing weaker, but doesn't care. He only cares when Peter lets go.

"Don't- don't stop," he says, voice raspy.

He's only vaguely aware of Peter easing them both down to the ground, letting Stiles settle against his chest again. He's more aware that Peter never lets go of Stiles' neck. He doesn't mind.

"It would kill you," Peter tells him, like it's simple. And it is simpler than imaginable. "You're already dying. You know what you need to do. Drink from me. You'll be like me. Do you want that, darling?"

"Yes, he whispers, his answer immediate and certain.

He lets out a disgruntled noise when Peter draws himself up. Stiles tries to follow, quivering slightly (in weakness, excitement, a fit of nerves) as he brings his face towards Peter's in a rough mimicry of earlier, but Peter stops him. He instead gently maneuvers Stiles' body until his head rests on Peter's thigh.

"No, I want it. I do."

"You will. Trust me, you'll like it this way."

Stiles shuts his eyes at the first quiet sound of metallic clicking--a zipper, followed by the courser sound of denim shifting under him. All thoughts, rational or otherwise, flick away and he's left with nothing but the weak thudding of his heart.

"Don't fret," Peter soothes him.

His voice is calming, a ripple of warmth spreading from Stiles' ears to his anxiously twitching fingers, to the unsteady beat of his heart.

"I told you this would please you. It will."

"I thought-- you said I could--"

Stiles cuts off his plea abruptly when he smells something sweet and metallic. He opens his eyes to see not just exposed skin, but also a deep gash that Peter must have cut into himself.

"It's richest here," Peter tells him. "The sweetest of places for your first."

Stiles gapes at him, trying to muddle through the meaning, but his head is sluggish now.

"Now," Peter says, harsher this time.

Stiles nods, and Peter uses his grip on Stiles' neck to guide him to the open wound near his groin. He doesn't need anymore help than that, really, and he takes and takes and takes, and its all the perfect pleasure that he felt before, but without the pain. Peter doesn't gasp, but he clutches tighter to Stiles, murmuring encouragements that thrill Stiles.

"I bet we taste perfect together. Do we?"

It's true, but Stiles doesn't want to stop to tell him He runs his hands up to Peter's hips, holding on for support as he pulls himself closer and drinks and drinks and drinks all that he can before he's tugged away from his fount of pleasure. And Peter, insatiable Peter, gives Stiles only enough time for a handful of breaths before plunging teeth in the same spot where he started. Stiles doesn't know if he feels pain, ecstasy, or something entirely new, but it feels right and he is overwhelmed by it all. He screams until Peter pulls away again.

"Perfect." It's only one word, said with the grin of a devil, but it makes Stiles dizzy with want. He lets himself be moved again, malleable in a way he's never been for anyone else, until Peter can lick into his mouth and taste their mingled blood again.

"Definitely perfect."

"Your turn," Peter says, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards. It makes him look unhinged. He probably is.

Stiles bends down, lips open to take what's offered, but Peter holds him back. Stiles whimpers softly, trails his fingers through blood smeared on Peter's bare leg.

"No. Here."

Stiles stares blankly, the stretch of bared skin at Peter's neck calling him like a siren. He isn't aware of moving until he's tasting another wound Peter has sliced open for him, this one on his own throat. Only for Stiles. He feels nothing outside of this, nothing but blood in his mouth and dripping steadily down his chin, a hand on his throat and another on his waist keep him steady. He wonders absently if Peter can feel the vibration of his own blood making its way down Stiles' throat. The moment is an eternity shoved into a space meant for mere seconds. He can't comprehend why he is pushed away this time. He can't endure the thought of ending this moment, but Peter shushes his desperate sounds.

"You need rest, love."

The ache of want in him twists, grows to a slow, steady burn that takes everything from Stiles, washing over him easily, and he screams again. This time, he knows it's pain. Pain that burns hotter and faster with every second.

"It'll be done soon. Your blood is mine and mine is yours. Let it take its course."

The words mean nothing to him like this, but the arms around his waist almost dull the pain minutely.

"Not long now," is whispered in his hair, the words barely audible over the static in his head. "You'll be mine."


End file.
